


creosote

by sybilius



Category: Death Note, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Adrenaline kink, B is a menace, Blow Jobs, Couches, Don't Try This At Home, Established Relationship, Fire, Hand Jobs, L has control issues, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slight Character Study, Train Tracks, Unhealthy Relationships, but it's fine they'll just screw it out of each other, but mainly trash, pre death note, probably, they're both 15 so it's not super underage but mind the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are ways to waste time, and ways to make time stop. B finds both in the form of a stolen couch next to the railway tracks, and the boy he grew up fighting beside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	creosote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tartpants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartpants/gifts).



> I have an unhealthy obsession with the gritty train track aesthetic, and B/L is the rarepair hell I hope I never escape from ;)
> 
> So you all saw this coming, right?
> 
> Gifted to tartpants, who writes the L to my B in our artifact-based tumblr roleplay Black Beats and Low Leads, which this is completely, top-to-bottom inspired by (pun not intended, hah).

The couch is a gorgeous mahogany antique, just slightly bigger than a loveseat. The upholstery is a deep merlot, fabric that sits somewhere between satin and leather. The feet are carved in a smooth, swooping grip that belongs in an old English drawing room. It’s a conversation piece, and an ostentatious one at that.

It’s juxtaposition against the fist-sized grey and black rocks under the highway is almost songworthy, guitar-and-gravelly voice by the roadside. Or at least the kind of cacophony that appeals to the skinny fourteen year-old lighting matches, and tossing them one by one into a small fire that he’s built next to his throne.

Beyond Birthday uses the latest strike to light a Marlboro, sucking up the smoke and blowing it into the breeze. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon. He can see a stooped figure in silhouette, walking beside the endless line of the tracks towards him. The pale, dark-eyed boy in jeans that’s been B’s partner since god knows how long.

His timing always was impeccable.

“Hullo, B.”

“Lawliet,” he gestures grandly with the cigarette, “Come to stay awhile?”

Lawliet narrows his eyes, runs a finger over his lips in a show of consideration, “S’pose, since you seem to have put so much work into it. Did you drag this over here alone?”

“Had Mihael help me get it as far as the moor. Then told him to bugger off.”

“Roger will have your head over this,” Lawliet shucks off his sneakers and squats on to the couch next to B.

“Roger would have it whether it was me or not, so don’t worry your pretty head about it.” B tugs at his arm sharply, so that Lawliet collapses into a pile of limbs overtop of him, "That's better. Don't give me that 'thinker' shit here. I go here to get away from all that."

Lawliet rearranges his head such that it’s pillowed on the arm of the couch, his chest rising and falling against B’s lap, "I don't generally get to 'go away'."

Lawliet snatches the Marlboro from B’s fingertips nonetheless and takes a short drag, coughs, then hands it back. On anyone else's lips, the words would seem bitter or disapproving. Lawliet manages them as facts. Facts are what he deals in. Facts and half-truths.

“Yeah, it doesn’t exactly suit you. Still, live a little." B combs his fingers through Lawliet's silky, slightly dirty hair. Lawliet lets him. They sit that way for a while, letting the snap and hiss of the wood fill the void of conversation. B could break it all, stub out the cigarette on the ornate stitching and talk to Lawliet’s body like he means to. But later. For now, the sky is turning a hazy grey purple as the light leaves it. There is the occasional bump of cars on the road overhead. Otherwise, it’s quiet. Too quiet for the thoughts about cases not to carefully walk in, one by one. B can almost see them, swarming like flies in front of Lawliet’s unblinking gaze.

Can’t keep silence forever.

“So, you going to need me to go in for the opium case?”

“Thought you were trying to ‘get away’.”

“Alright, alright, so I’m a hypocrite. Is that a yes?”

“It would be helpful, yes. Possibly essential. I haven’t decided yet.” Lawliet turns over so that his face is turned away. B drops the hand in Lawliet’s hair, regretting having brought it up. A car horn honks overhead, accompanied by the quick screech of wheels, then acceleration.

"Yeah, well,” B rolls his spine, crackling from top to bottom, “What else are you going to do? It’s not like evidence is going to come knocking at your door.”

“I could go.”

He says it with such a deadpan that B almost thinks he’s joking, grinning back at him, "Really? After the mess you made of the Dover case?"

Lawliet pulls himself off of B’s lap, curls himself back into his 'thinking' pose. God, B hates that squat. It's protective and productive and completely reductive of Lawliet the person, no matter how well it suits L the detective. Lawliet doesn't look at him when he replies, "I was thinking I'd be able to manage it, yes. It's time I picked up the skill set."

“Come off it, Lawli, I’ve already got the character picked out,” B takes a generous drag, then stubs out the cigarette. He misses the gentle weight of Lawliet's bones already. But he has to ask. Has to push, "What's this about, really?"

Lawliet hesitates, curling his lip in the way of turning cogs, calculating reactions. Calculating lies, "There are a lot of risks involved in this case-- a lot of violence from both the gang and the addicts. It might be risky for you.”

“What are you saying? Risky for me and not you? That’s just stupid,” as much as Lawliet paints a pretty picture, and there’s certainly a half-truth in it, B knows he’s trying to sweeten him up with the protective angle. It’s bullshit really, and B wants to know why, almost as much as he wants to pin him to the ugly ostentation of the couch.

"I'm saying that between the two of us, I'm the one we’re more certain will survive this.” Lawliet’s words are carefully chosen, well chosen. B feels the tension rocket through his muscles. He doesn’t like it when Lawliet alludes to the numbers that float in red above his head, doesn’t like the reminder that Lawliet is just as mortal as he is. Not this particular reminder.

B finds his voice, feeling like he’s speaking through rust, “I haven't forgotten the policeman’s heart attack. These things aren’t…certain.”

“Thank god for that.”

“We don’t know my numbers, yeah. But what we do know is that I’m better at the job than you are.” It’s a barb, and a clumsy one at that, but competition is always the best way to tear open Lawliet’s tightly-wound mind, “Is that what this is about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous that’s not why—"

“Really? Because you’ve been acting like a shithead ever since A threw you at capoeira.” It’s a slight lie, Lawliet started acting oddly slightly after the Dover case, but a few years ago it would have been the capoeira that would have sent him into a sulk.

“My fighting skills are more than adequate.”

“I think you’re being unrealistic.”

“Aren’t you being pedantic?”

“Lawliet—“ B shoves Lawliet’s ridiculous crouch into a splayed mess over the couch, bracketing his ribcage with strong legs before he can move, pinning his wrists to the surface of the fabric. Lawliet appears bemused, which B answers with a cruel smirk, “Tell me you can’t get free right now. Then I might believe you."

“I can’t.” He says it so simply, doesn’t even struggle. It’s not about the contest, it's not some misplaced sense of protectiveness, but there's something eating at him, and B has to find out what.

“Then what the hell are you on about? You can’t disguise yourself further than what’s just plain unsettling to the average person, you hate doing it, and you love pulling the strings and roping up the noose from behind the scenes,” B’s on a roll now, doesn’t give Lawliet even a breath to protest, “You’re damn good at that, too. No one else could do it. Quite frankly, between the two of us, I'm more expendable.”

“You’re not.” That’s what sets the burn in his eyes, which is surprising, but it comes full-circle to the first half truth. B catches the full meaning and throws it to hell by pressing his lips to Lawliet’s.

There’s resistance at first, of course Lawliet hates being silenced, having the words forced from his mouth. Then he yields, opening himself up to the press of B’s tongue, the drag of his lips. B mouths along the soft skin of his jaw before coming back to Lawliet’s mouth.

Lawliet purses his lips before letting him in again, "I thought I told you to stop doing that."

“Yeah.” B punctuates each word with a kiss, “You want me to stop?”

Lawliet doesn’t reply do that, just lets out a sharp breath and strains his neck up to B’s lips. B chooses to interpret that as a firm no, but he doesn’t fully lose himself in Lawliet’s teeth and tongue just yet.  
“So kissing issues aside, you’ve got some kind of codependence issues, huh,” he licks a trail to Lawliet’s earlobe, “Me and A are just going to have to stick around and keep being non-expendable.”

  
“I wouldn't call it dependence."

"You don't want to, but you need us. L needs people like us to exist." This is how B serves his truth, with a side of bite, sweetened with something physical.

  
“I suppose.” Lord knows that's the only way Lawliet will take it.

“You’re such a selfish bastard,” B likes to whisper truths in Lawliet’s ear before he licks at it, and a desperate grapple of hands down his back reminds him how much Lawliet likes it as well. There’s a distant ringing and rumble coming from the tracks. Well, there’s both of the things that B is here for. He captures Lawliet’s lips again, forcing his tongue into places that leave Lawliet gasping, “Thinking you can have it all, huh?”

“I admit sometimes I’m… unrealistic.”

“Thought you were finished lying for now anyways,” he licks a trail down Lawliet’s neck. The sound in the distance has become a roar, and Lawliet is beginning to squirm nervously underneath him. It’s half dirty, half panic, so B keeps his wrists pinned tightly to the mahogany.

“B, there’s a train—“ the tracks are screaming with energy now.

“Yeah, what do you think I’m here for?”

“It’s too close. We need to move.”

“No, we don’t. Just stay still.” B almost has to yell at this point, the train’s lights are tens of metres from them. Then it passes with a force that flattens B on top of Lawliet’s shaking body, the iron horse hooves screeching fire to the night. B cups Lawliet’s neck as it passes, keeping him grounded even as his body goes stock-still and his pulse skyrockets. The fire of it turns up B’s heartbeat to a fever pitch, the weight of the careening freight cars perceptible in the breeze. It’s a short one, for goods transport anyways, but long enough for the adrenaline rush to overtake him.

He peels himself off of Lawliet just as the last locomotive burns by, chases it up the tracks with a whoop. On another day, in another part of the tracks he would have climbed aboard, rode for a few days and nights. This one is too fast and going too far.

Besides, B would rather stay right where he is. When he turns back Lawliet is already on his feet, striding over the iron tracks to face him. Lawliet’s mouth is a thin, hard line. B sees the punch to the gut coming, but he lets it happen, enjoying the way the breath is knocked out of his lungs, the sharp pain of it, alive, alive. He lands hard, tailbone to the railway ties, and then it’s Lawliet pinning his arms to the iron of the tracks, not an inch of kindness in his eyes.

"Tell me you can't get free. An eye for an eye."

"I can't,” B grins lazily, making it a challenge, “But I trust you.”

When Lawliet kisses him, it’s awful and messy; always is with him. Teeth and spit and tongue in places B couldn’t have guessed would be pleasurable, but it’s like a freighter in flames inside of him and he just wants more. Lawliet seems to sense that, and pulls back, the firelight barely carving shadows on his cheekbones.

“What are you so afraid of?” B asks and Lawliet doesn’t answer, “You know you could do anything to me right now, anything at all.”

“Take off your shirt,” Lawliet commands, seeming to come to a decision. B smiles and wiggles at his hands, still pinned, and Lawliet lets them free, just long enough for him to shrug out of the jacket and throw the tee-shirt off.

“I know you can do that faster,” Lawliet growls.

“Well if you wanted it, you’d have had to ask for it.” B snatches the shirt off Lawliet without permission, before his wrists are back against the iron of the tracks. Lawliet bites at his nipple hard enough for it to hurt, tearing a gasp from B’s lungs. The rocks are digging into his back, pain sparking pleasure along his spine.

“You’re a menace.” Lawliet whispers in his ear, licking at his neck as B starts to gasp desperately. Just the way that gets Lawliet hard, the way B can feel it next to his thigh.  


“Wouldn’t be any fun if I wasn’t.” Lawliet doesn’t disagree, just wrenches B’s left arm down, pinning it with his knee, and works open his trousers one-handed. His hands are cold and his fingers are long, which shouldn’t be a turn on, but fuck if it doesn’t make B that much harder in Lawliet’s touch.

The metal of the tracks is starting to vibrate beneath his wrist, but the sensation of Lawliet’s hand, pumping up and down his cock is overwhelming him. There’s a pair of teeth at his nipples, and just before he thinks the sensation is too much, Lawliet bites hard on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” B gasps, but Lawliet doesn’t even blink, just licks it smooth and mouths along B’s neck.

“Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming,” Lawliet’s voice is dark and knowing. When a horn sounds in the distance, B almost believes it’s a reverb of the ringing in his ears.  
Lawliet only hesitates for a moment, slackening his grip, “Do you want me to—“

“Stop and I’ll shove you into the train myself, fuck.” it’s a desperate, raw gasp, and Lawliet knows he’s running out of time so he quickens the pace. When Lawliet nail catches the head, the shock of pain sends B careening over the edge, spurting into Lawliet’s hands and chest. Not a moment too soon, Lawliet grabs B around the chest and rolls them over stone and creosote out of the way of the thundering tracks.

  
The second train is screaming by, the force so strong it keeps them both clinging to each other in a mass of limbs and skin and scratches. B regains his ability to form conscious thoughts in time to feel Lawliet’s rock-hard cock through denim. He reaches for the zipper, giving Lawliet a glance he hopes is half-humility, half-greed.

It must evoke something, because when Lawliet nods back, his eyes are like lighted coals. B doesn’t waste any time, ripping down Lawliet’s boxers and licking a strip of precome off of his tip. He takes it all in, straight down to hit the back of his throat and then lightly back to the tip. There’s a hand in his hair, almost tentative, and he takes a breath to lock eyes with Lawliet.

“What are you waiting for? Pull.” Lawliet pulls, the so tightly it feels like the screeching of the train is coming from the roots of B’s hair. When B engulfs him again, Lawliet picks up the old rhythm, tearing his hand back and forth until B is fucking his mouth in earnest. He’s close, B can tell in the way his stomach muscles quiver underneath his fingertips. It’s the screech of the boxcars that does it, or perhaps it’s the way B shoves his tongue at the tip of his cock, hard.

Lawliet unravels beneath him, chest heaving and hands desperate at B’s neck as they collapse into each other. The movement has a beautiful finality to it, circular, this is where we’ve always been. It feels that way to B. When their breathing gets under control, B stares at Lawliet, deep and strange, wondering how he became so knotted with him. Who he was without him. It’s been so long that he couldn’t answer that question if he tried.

"Tell me the color of my eyes again.” They're always blood-red in the mirror, but B well knows that's not what anyone else sees.

“They’re hazel. Green and grey, flecks of amber. No one else has eyes quite like them.”

B almost laughs, laughs and makes it sound like a sob, “Damn straight they don’t.”

Lawliet says nothing, but traces the veins of B’s neck gently. It last forever, it last no time at all, but sometime in between them lying beside the tracks the night has fallen. The is fire their only companion in the shadow of the bridge.

“As comfortable as this is, there are rocks digging into my back.”

“You know that’s what I brought the couch for,” B props himself up on his elbow and rolls over to let Lawliet up, “Well that, and—“ He takes a flaming stick of kindling tentatively, avoiding the flame and tosses it in the center of the upholstery, which catches obligingly quickly. The smell is strange; something like plastic, something like the satisfying, smoky smell of expensive wood.

Lawliet stares, curious, but unconcerned with the casual violence of the burning furniture. It’s the look he gives B most often, mainly fascination, a small part revulsion, and with gentleness tucked in a place B isn’t even sure exists. They stand and watch it burn while the stars become small lights in the cloak of the sky, neither looking at the other. Simply being with. It’s a dry old piece, anyways, and the fire has it in ruin far too soon. The call back to the outside comes far too soon.

Still, B doesn’t shy away from it. "I'll take the case, Lawliet. I'll be fine. Trust me."

"This time," he says, still keeping his eyes on the burnt-out skeleton of the couch. And this time, he doesn’t shrink back when B stands, wraps an arm around his bony shoulders, and kisses his head, just once.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone HAS stood next to a freighter as it rushes by... well it's incredibly exhilarating.
> 
> If anyone has ever given a blowjob next to a freighter, hats off to you, you are insane.
> 
> If you're interested in more BB/LL, come yell to me on sybilius.tumblr.com about it, or you can keep tabs on Black Beats and Low Leads, a roleplay I'm in that has a ton of the ship :) Check out B's blog at noirberryjam.tumblr.com , or L's at lowlawliet.tumblr.com, or Mello's at sirota-krysa.tumblr.com.


End file.
